


Cyclicality

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Character Death, Child Death, F/M, Genderbending, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living is a collection of debts and credits. To do a good deed is credit earned, while to commit a crime is to incur debt.</p><p>When the immortal dragon Altair commits a crime against Death herself, the punishment he incurs will last hundreds of years. Caught up in all this is Malik, a mortal man who dies and is reborn, again and again.</p><p>Each and every time he returns, Altair will find him only to lose him.</p><p>And then the cycle starts all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1.

They say that hundreds of years ago, the dragon (as powerful as any god) in the mountain had demanded the sacrifice of a human. They'd taken the girl from her home and slit her throat upon an alter. The stories get a little muddled after that. Some say the dragon had been angry and razed the village to the ground. Others say he had been pleased with the offering.

There was no one left from that time to say for sure but, just in case, no one ever climbs to the top of the mountain where the peaks kisses the clouds.

In every version though, there was always rain. Rain that opened up and didn't let up until the new moon became full and then hid her face all over again.

Rain enough to kill.

Rain enough to wash away the blood.

Rain that the townspeople are now desperate for after a long drought.

Malik volunteers because he and his brother are orphans, extra mouths that no one wanted to feed and no one would miss. Malik had accepted it a long time ago and it worked for him because he hadn't wanted their pity to begin with. He had never once asked the townspeople for anything except to be paid for the work he did. And he was not asking when he pushed Kadar, younger and smaller and a much easier target than Malik who was already a young man and broader and more vicious by far.

He will be their sacrifice, but they will leave his brother alone _or else._

They accept easily enough because no one wanted to kill a child, not really (but if it had come to be a choice between their old children and an orphan. Well. People always protect their own, don't they?). A woman who had looked uneasy but hadn't spoken up before offered to take his brother in and Malik acquiesces (but pulls a crying Kadar aside, wraps his arms around him and tells only his little brother where he's hidden the extra money he's earned and where he should run to should it ever become necessary).

They dress him in fine clothes and walk him as far up the mountain as they dared to go (so the dragon could judge the sacrifice himself), which means Malik makes most of the trip alone. The finery they dressed him is not meant for travelling and he abandons the elaborate outer robe after the third time it got caught on something.

Even without stopping, by the time it's dark he hadn't made it anywhere close to the top. But apparently that's enough. He stops because there is a large dragon, easily as tall a three men even while it stands on all fours, in his way. It stood out not only because of its size, but also the white scales it's covered in from tip to tail. In the light of the full moon, it almost seemed to glow.

"I assume you are Altair."

~ + ~

It had been a long time, even for one as long lived as him, since a human had dared to come so far into the mountains that were his domain. (Not since he lost Adha.)

"You would be correct." Altair leaned forward, his serpentine neck allowing him to lean into the human's space without moving his body, "What are you doing in my mountains, human?"

There isn't even a hint of fear in the human's eyes and _that_ was interesting. Back in the past, when he deigned to grace human settlements with his prescence, there were no humans who did not look at him with some mixture of awe and fear. They respected his power, yes, but there wasn't a single human he's met who was so completely and uterrly unafraid even from the first meeting.

"I come to ask for rain."

Altair snorts, "And you are the one they chose to ask?"

The man smirks (a crooked thing that's handsome if one could only look beyond the mocking edge to it) and his voice is dry when he says, "No. I was chosen as a sacrifice."

And _that_ last word, Altair's nostrils flair before he draws back with a growl.

"Tell them they are wasting their time--"

"I know." The man doesn't even flinch in the face of Altair's sudden temper and, if anything, it makes him angrier, "And I will. After you make it rain."

He narrows his eyes at the audacity of the human, but finds himself leaning in again, "And why should I do that?"

"Because they will not believe me otherwise and then they will just send someone else."

It was so...practical when he put it like that, but a part of Altair balked at the thought of taking orders from a mere mortal. He drew back again, flicking his tail once before he made a slow circuit around the man. He moved with all the easy grace of a dangerous predator, and intimidation that didn't really work from the unimpressed look the man threw him.

"And why are you doing this?" His wings twitched once before settling on his back, "You do not strike me as someone who would risk coming here for purely unselfish reasons."

"You barely know me." The man pointed out mildly while he tracks Altair's movement with a slow turn of his head.

"But am I wrong?" Altair asked, stopping in front of him again.

"No."

"Then why come all the way up here?" And he tells himself it's not interest. This human is a curiosity, nothing more than that.

The human seems to consider his question before he spreads his arms with a shrug, "If not me, it would have been my brother."

Altair had never had siblings. He was born in a ruined nest full of destroyed eggs back in an age before the dragons had left, when it was not uncommon for humans to band together and hunt them and sell their parts for something petty and worthless like gold. So it's with no small amount of skepticism when he asks, "And you were prepared to die for your brother?"

"There is very little I would not do for my brother." In contrast, this human says it so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the entire world and Altair couldn't imagine it, couldn't imagine willingly dying for someone.

He flicked his tail again, before leaning in, eyes glinting gold in the light of the full moon, "What is your name, human?"

It was not the question the human had been expecting, that much was clear from the brief flicker of surprise that morphed into suspicion. "Malik Al-Sayf."

"Malik." Altair repeated, tasting the syllables on his tongue without being sure why. He draws back. "Return to your village and tell them that they will get their rain." He spreads his wings in one smooth motion, covering the sky and casting Malik and a large section of the ground in shadow, "And tell them not to send anyone else up here again. I will not be so merciful next time." And then the human--Malik, had to bring his arms up to cover his face when Altair beat his wings and took off.

When Altair was only a faint silhouette in the night sky, he turned to leave. Halfway back, the sky darkens when the moon is covered by clouds. Not long after, it begins to rain.

Malik glared at the sky.

"...bastard."

~ + ~

Malik had been content to forget the encounter afterwards and return to his life with Kadar. Things could not go back to exactly the way they were before (Malik had long been considering leaving this place, but recent events only cemented the plans). The villagers treated him with a certain degree of respect, but Malik expects at some point it will wane. Until then, he will take advantage of it to get Kadar more books (expensive things but Kadar loved them even though Malik, who was illiterate, did not understand).

He did occasionally glance at the mountains, though his gaze never lingered on it long.

One day, a peculiar woman appeared where Malik was working. She was draped in all white with hair as dark as night. Her eyes are gold, the same as the trim on her clothes, but even the colour of her eyes are not the strangest thing. No, the strangest was the way she seemed to glow, even in broad-daylight. The men stared, but didn't dare to step in her way as she walked towards Malik, tipping her head in a shallow bow when she stopped in front of him.

From this angle, he could see as her mouth moved, but she didn't speak words, making sounds like the murmur of a summer breeze. But even so, they could hear her meaning as clearly as if they were spoken into their minds.

_My master wishes to see you._

~ + ~

Altair's waiting where they'd first met when Malik finally makes it there, dressed in work clothes instead of the finery he'd been decked out in last time. He seems perturbed, but not hesitant as he walked over to Altair.

"The villagers seem to think I have angered you somehow."

"You have not." Altair rumbles, "I only wish to...talk." Though of what he is still uncertain, but he is careful to hide that fact. He is a god and he will be damned before he shows weakness before a mortal.

Malik, though, only seems unimpressed.

"You wish to talk." He repeats incredulously.

"Yes."

He stares at Altair for a long moment, as if he suspected that Altair was touched in the head, before he drops to sit on the grass with an exasperated sigh.

"Then, by all means, talk." He says with a sweep of his arm, "I hope it is important because I am losing wages over this." Technically, no one would dock his pay because he had gone to visit what amounts to being a god in these mountains (assuming the outcome was good), but he knows the owner, and he is not likely to pay Malik for work he hasn't done.

Altair scowls, "There are men who would walk across a desert to visit a god." He says this imperiously, as if talking to a slow child. It does nothing to endear him to Malik and he frowns right back.

"Then you can ask one of them to humour you." He waves Altair off, "I need money to pay for food and necessities." And Kadar's schooling. It was hardly something he would bring up here.

~ + ~

The next day, when he is called to the mountain again, Altair tosses a small bag to Malik.

Malik catches it. The pouch is heavy and whatever is inside it clinks against each other. The pouch itself is plain and likely to be worth more money than Malik has ever handled in his life. He pulls it open and inside it is filled with coins made of gold.

Altair is no stranger to mortals and their greed. It surprises him, then, when Malik shakes his head.

"This is too much." He watches with fascination as Malik pulls out only one coin, before tossing the pouch back.

~ + ~

They talk like this day after day, with Altair offering a pouch of gold coins and Malik taking only one. They ask each other small things and, bit by bit, they come to know each other.

Malik is illiterate, though he has made great effort to find people to teach his brother to read and write. He enjoys being read to, he confesses much later in their acquaintance, enjoys the excited cadence of his little brother's voice sharing his newest favourite story.

Malik shakes his head with a laugh, "I do not even know if it is the story or just his enthusiasm I enjoy."

Altair, on the other-hand, could read, though he finds little pleasure in it. There is an enormous library at the top of the mountain, with shelves upon shelves filled with books, some of which he has never touched. He eats fruits and meats, but he did not eat human flesh. He also did not have much of a taste for duck.

"There is no reason." He says and would have shrugged if he weren't lying on the ground, the position he took making it difficult, "I just do not enjoy it."

The conversations go from idle small talk, to more personal questions as the weeks went on, until the day Malik tossed the pouch back without taking a single coin at all.

"I do not need it." He says in response to Altair's expression of confusion, "I will come again tomorrow. You no longer need to bring me coins."

He brings him a dagger instead. A masterfully crafted thing, as deadly as it was beautiful.

Malik took one look at it and shook his head.

He does not take the dagger when he leaves.

~ + ~

They talked about the past, about Malik's family, his brother who he loved more than anything and the parents who had loved both sons just as fiercly even as disease claimed their lives. Malik's back is a warm weight when he sat back against Altair's side and Altair spreads his wings slightly to give the man shade.

"Her name was Adha." He said in the lull after Malik spoke of his family. Because he had no stories about family to share, but a story of love and loss is one he knows, "She was the love of my life. I'd wanted to spend the rest of our lives together."

He does not say anything else and Malik doesn't ask, only turns to lean his cheek to Altair's side, placing a hand on his scales as a gesture of apology.

~ + ~

Altair does not stop brining him gifts, and Malik refuses them all until he tells him in exasperation, "your company is enough." (But there is a flush in his cheeks when he admits it that leaves Altair speechless and staring.)

It does not stop the gifts, though increasingly he starts to bring him things that are strange instead of beautiful, just to see what other expressions he might make.

He laughs one day, at a particularly strange looking statuette, shaped like a monkey, but with the head of a lizard and generously endowed.

"Where did this even come from?" He asks with a wry grin as he turned the statuette in his hands, and Altair tries to lean in inconspicuously, wanting a better view of that face.

"I do not know myself." He answers. He hesitates for a moment, then leans in to nuzzle the side of Malik's face. He starts and flinches back, but does not move away. This time, he is the one who hesitates and he does so long enough that Altair considers pulling back. But then he brings a hand up to run it along Altair's neck with an unreadable expression on his face.

~ + ~

There's a white mongoose with gold eyes sitting on Malik's shoulder speaking with Altair's voice.

Malik tilted his head and lifted an arm and watched Altair scamper down it, shifting into the form of a white mouse before sitting on his bent knee. Show off.

"You cannot choose what you look like? Make yourself black instead of white?"

"I can only change my form."

Malik let out a thoughtful hum and shifted to sit cross-legged, Altair the mouse jumped from his perch to land in the grass between his legs as a white snake.

"A pity." He says while absent-mindedly running his fingers lightly over Altair's back. The scales on his resembled the ones he had in his original form, but cool to the touch where Altair was normally warm. "It would be much more useful if you could hide your colouring as well."

"It works well enough. But that is not the point of this, is it?" Altiar says, somehow forming words and sounds that a serpents tongue were not meant to. Then he shifted again, becoming something much larger to that Malik had to move his legs out of the way. The cools scales under his hand became warm skin and there was a man sitting between his legs. Altair smirked and leaned in, careless of the fact that he was without clothes. The scar that persists in existing no matter what form he takes is more obvious on a human mouth and Malik bites back to urge to touch. He drops even the hand on Altair's back to the ground even as Altair leans so their faces are almost touching. "This was more what you had in mind, I assume?"

"...you flatter yourself." Because Malik hadn't been thinking about this when he'd asked about the myth that dragons could shape-shift, but he doesn't protest at all when Altair angles his head to kiss him.

It wasn't particularly good as far as kisses went. In this, Altair is all enthusiasm and no experience and he pulls back looking insulted when Malik actually _laughs at him._ (He couldn't help it though. Here was a man--pretty much a god, so much older than Malik he was probably ancient and he didn't know how to kiss without making their teeth bump against each other painfully.) Malik brings a hand behind his neck, pulls him back in so their noses touched.

"Let me." And he angles his head to kiss Altair properly.

~ + ~

The next day, Malik came back and unceremoniously threw a set of clothes at Altair and tells him that if he chooses to use this form he will need to dress.

~ + ~

Some days Altair still chose to appear in his original form, but the days when he took the form of a human were also the days when Malik would find himself pressed against a tree or the ground or whatever surface was nearest with Altair's hands wandering over every inch of him.

The first time they tried went about as well as the first kiss did. But slowly he figures out how to kiss Malik so that his breath would hitch and where to grab and touch to draw out needy little sounds that go straight to his dick. But he's not the only one and he wonders if he should worry at how easily Malik could get him to bend to his touch, at how easily he could coax Altair to wanting with nearly mindless abandon.

Clothing is an odd thing, a human thing that Altair had very little interest in the past and still found cumbersome even now, except for the way it made Malik look when he's dishevelled and flushed. Somehow, the sight of Malik's clothes parted and only half on him seemed more obscene than when he was completely nake. Malik had complained about it once (because Altair seemed perectly content with what little skin was revealed, when Malik couldn't stop thinking about Altair _naked_ when he was dressed). But it was only a half-hearted grumble at best.

More and more, Altair finds himself appearing in human form even on the days when they do nothing but talk. Grows increasingly fond of the way Malik cards his fingers through his hair as much as he enjoyed the way their fingers fit together when they were laced together. They were human things, but he came to cherish them and long for them as much as he did the freedom of flying through the skies.

"Leave this place with me, Malik." He says one day when they were breathless from laughing after a brief bout of rough-housing that ended with Altair on top. Malik had a hand on his shoulder though he was no longer pushing against him. His laughter had only begun to die off into chuckles when the question spilled from Altair's mouth.

Malik looked at him oddly for a moment (that felt like an eternity), and Altair, never content to just wait and react forges on even though he hadn't meant to ask now.

"I know you do not hold attachment to the village you grew up in. There is a fortress in the mountain," He adds even though his only real reason is because he wants Malik's face to be the last he sees before he sleeps and the first he sees when he awakes, "there are riches and treasures beyond your imagination and foods most mortals can only dream of tasting. All of that can be yours." Because he had thought of how to convince Malik to leave with him, but it feels woefully inadequate in the face of Malik's continued silence, "your brother is welcome to come as well..."

He trails off when Malik's hand slips from his shoulder to his nape to draw Altair down.

"I'll ask Kadar tonight." He murmurs against Altair's mouth before he kisses him.

~ + ~

Altair has long since stopped caring about what the humans living near his mountains got up to.

He treated the villages surrounding the mountains with the same indifference he treated the bandits that made their home in the area.

Years later he would regret not having eradicated every last one of them.

For now, he only paced the clearing as a dragon, impatient because Malik was _late_. His ears perked up when he heard the sound of footsteps, but it is not Malik who came running. It was a child, covered in dirt and blood, who bore a striking resemblance to Malik that it made Altair's blood run cold. He hesitated when he saw Altair, blue eyes reflecting the fear that Altair could almost smell in the air.

But whatever the boy's afraid of isn't here because he throws himself at Altair, sobbing and pleading for him to please save his brother.

~ + ~

The village is burning when Altair lands in the area Kadar said he last saw Malik. 

"Malik!"

Everywhere there's the cloying smell of ash and blood that overcomes the smell of the coming storm that began brewing the moment he took off. Even so, he feels somehow that he should be able to pick out Malik's scent amongst all the carnage. How could he not when they'd spent so many afternoons together? When he had tasted Malik's mouth and skin so often that he was sure he would remember every touch and feeling for the rest of his life?

And yet all he could smell as smoke and blood and _death_ and it made the knot of dread curled deep in his cut tighten.

"Malik!" The name came out as a roar that shook the trees and made the flames flicker.

There's a faint whisper and his head whips around to spot a shimmer that pointed towards the woods. A dark trail of blood was left on the ground near the edge of the trees.

He turned and started in a run and in his head he swore to himself that whoever did this would die.

There are more splashes of blood as he tore through the forest and it became easier to pick out Malik's scent (he smelled like fear and desperation and blood) and another that also followed this path.

It belonged to a man, unwashed and cruel, who stood in a small clearing, holding a sword over a fallen figure with a a cruel twist to his mouth. Some inhuman sound was torn from Altair's throat at the sight and the man falters, stumbles back in fear and drops his sword when lightning arches through the air and strikes him in the chest.

In contrast Malik only turned his head and relief flooded his expression when he saw Altair. The bandit convulsing on the ground was unimportant to the way Malik slowly, painfully, pushed himself to his feet, his hand still pressed to his bleeding side.

"Altair..." It's barely a rasp, and the sound of it, so soft and yet was painfully loud to Altair's ears (and he should not have killed the bandit so quickly, should have made him suffer for what he had done).

He doesn't make it the whole way because Altair closes the distance between them, allowing him to lean against Altair's bulk. His breathing is laboured and Altair reaches out with one large claw to cradle him against his chest carefully.

"Kadar...he went--"

For a moment, Altair resents the child. He was safe and well, possibly already at the fortress while Malik bleeds out. If Malik had only run to the mountain himself, if he hadn't been trying to keep his brother safe--

But he says none of it.

"He is safe." He says instead and feels the way Malik relaxes against him, "So are you." He adds even as he feels Malik go limp.

He lays him on the ground before carefully slips his claws under Malik's body, scraping up dirt that falls to the ground when Altair lifts him up. Malik doesn't so much as twitch as Altair cradles him against his chest. There's a faint whisper, wordless but not meaningless and Altair doesn't bother to turn to see the spot of light hovering there.

"Find a healer and bring them to the fortress." He spreads his wings, but stops for a moment, long enough to add, "there is a boy in the mountains, bring him to me as well." And that was all before he took off.

~ + ~

The fortess he lived in was an ancient thing, built and abandoned long before Altair was even born. Its ceilings were high enough that Altair could easily manuveur even in his dragon form. For the most part, he'd kept out of the rooms that had been built for humans, their doors too small for him to fit through without transforming.

He shifted from dragon to man after landing, without breaking stride as he carried Malik through the halls. One of the ornate doors swing open right as he reaches it, there's a faint echo of a whisper that he ignores.

He sets Malik down, showing more consideration and gentleness than he's ever shown another mortal being since Adha. The room had been prepared by his servants before hand, though the arrival of its occupant was supposed to be more auspicious than this.

Altair checks the bandages and frowns when he sees they're beginning to bleed through.

There are some creatures whose speciality were healing. Altair had never once envied them their gifts. What good is healing if they cannot fight to defend what is rightfully theirs. Never-mind that, recently, humans have been taking advantage of those who practised the healing arts, asking for favour after favour even knowing that healing magic drew from the user's life. What foolishness.

But now he wished he could do more than just reapplying bandages with hands that had never learned the proper method to do it. He could dam even the largest river on the mountain with hardly any effort but he could not stem the flow of blood coming from Malik's wounds. The irony of the situation made his anger _burn_ and outside, thunder rumbled.

Kadar arrives first and his arrival is heraled by the stumbling and, above all, loud footsteps as he bursts into the room and immediately makes a bee-line for his brother's bedside. A faint glow follows afterwards, one that Altair knows the boy sees as a human-like creature.

"Watch them." Was the only order he leaves behind before he stalks out of the room.

~ + ~

Altair stands at the gate as a white dragon, his growl echoed by a rumble of thunder as he leaned towards the old man spirited all the way up to this place.

"If you value your life, you will save him."

He remains in the form of a dragon, sitting outside in the hall while the door to where Malik is is left open so he could look in. It isn't long before the sky opens up and rain pours down in torrents.

In the end, the healer came out of the room, shaking like a leaf but none-the-less telling Altair that there was nothing else he can do, now.

"He has lost a lot of blood, my lord." Too much blood, but the man didn't dare say it, "I have done all I can. The rest will be up to him."

"Then you are useless to me." Altair stands to his full height, teeth bared, " _Leave._ "

~ + ~

He enters the room again in human form. At some point, Kadar had crawled onto the bed and curled at his brother's side.

Altair sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Malik's lax hands in his.

"You will not die." He says and it sounds less like the command he'd meant it to be and more like a plea. He squeezes Malik's fingers, willing him to squeeze back, to open his eyes and tell him that he's not going anywhere. His hand remains still and his laboured breathing is almost deafening in the silence of the room.

~ + ~

Malik's condition, instead of getting better, grows worse over-night. He is shivering as if cold, but his face is flushed and feverish. Kadar stands vigil over him, replacing the damp cloth on his forehead with clumsy hands and babbles at him all day, leaving only when prodded to take care of the necessities before he's right back at his brother's side.

Altair sits in the corner, silent as a statue and does not leave the room at all.

~ + ~

The next day, Altair knew Malik was going to die. It wasn't just the fever or the stench of blood, but something more subtle. It was not something that could be explained, a feeling that could not be articulated in the language of mortals.

But all the same, he knew.

And he would not abide by it.

~ + ~

While he doesn't fit through the door, the room he'd chosen for Malik was large enough that Altair could assume his original form inside it. Which is what he'd chosen to do, laying on the ground with his tail curved on the bed, laying between the headboard and the top of Malik's head to follow the curve of his shoulder so that the tip lay over his stomach (a gesture that was equal parts protective and possessive).

Kadar, he'd sent away before the sun set. The child had refused at first as his fear of Altair was completely eclipsed by love for his brother. He would have continued refusing if Altair had no growled at him.

_"If you do not wish your brother to die you will leave."_

He sits patiently as the night drags on, until there's a wisp of smoke that comes in from underneath the door. Altair's tail slips off the bed as he stands, head-bowed because the ceiling isn't quite tall enough. But it makes him seem like he's taking up more space than usual and when the smoke materializes into a human-like shape, Altair has blocked Malik from view entirely.

"Son of None." The paled faced creature spoke, voice faint and curling like smoke in the wind. It dips its head in respect, because this is Altair's territory and, though the servants of Death go wherever they are needed, they do not, as a matter of course, try to upset others whose domain they enter.

Altair draws himself up as far as he could, "Leave this place."

"I will once I have performed the duty I came to do. Move aside, Son of None."

Because they can pass through mortals, but not a creature like Altair. Nor would they try. Their lady may be powerful, but they themselves were not.

"This soul is not yours to take."

"That is against the rules. A human cannot stay beyond his time."

Altair growls at the matter-of-fact-tone that was taken.

"This is my land where my word is law. And I am telling you: no one will touch him." His eyes glow faintly in the darkness, "you can tell your mistress that." Then he brings a hand up and sweeps his claws through the figure and watches it dissipate into nothing.

~ + ~

Malik does not wake up the next day, or the next, but on the third day after the night he was supposed to have died, Malik's eyes opened. It was only for a moment, long enough to take in both their faces before he's drifting off again, but it gave them both hope.

Not long after, Malik regains conciousness. He winces when Kadar all but throws himself on his brother sobbing. He rubs soothing circles on his brother's back with one hand and reaches out for Altair with the other. He had remained as a dragon in case Death sent anyone else and dragon claws were not meant to hold human hands. So Malik holds his hand, palm out and Altair leans forward to push his head against it. Malik smiles, tiredly and Altair treasures the sight, knowing better than anyone how close he had come to losing all this.

Kadar stays that night and Altair grumbles but allows it because Malik would not take no for an answer. The brothers are curled together on the bed as Altair continued to hold vigil as he has done since four nights ago.

Malik's brother is a nuisance, but knowing that Malik would not, could not be happy to without him here, Altair puts up with his prescence. Eventually, Malik coaxes Kadar to visit the library and when he leaves they can hear him chatting with someone. Faint whispers are the only answers he receives.

When the door shuts, Malik leans back against the pillows and isn't surprised at all when Altair leans in towards the bed and shifts back into his human form, straddling Malik's legs. He frames Malik's face with both hands and does nothing but that for a moment, as if to reassure himself this was real.

Malik allows him his moment, letting his hands settle on Altair's hips.

"I apologize if I frightened you."

And Altair, not wanting to admit to such a human and powerless feeling, only leaned in to silence him with an open mouthed kiss and Malik responds eagerly. He licks his way into Malik's mouth, and his hands drift from the sides of his face to the back of his head, through his hair and then to his nape. Even now, the fear isn't entirely gone, but the relief was finally beginning to sink in when his hand presses to the side of Malik's neck, feels the steady pulse there. It makes him reluctant to pull away at all, and he kisses Malik, again and again like he didn't know how to stop. Malik gasps when Altair shifts and it's quiet and muffled and _pained_. Altair pulls away suddenly, causing Malik to wince again, but he keeps his hands where they'd slid up to Altair's back. And Altair thinks of taking him, right in this bed and it's oh-so-very tempting.

But he only leans in to press their foreheads together, closing his eyes briefly and just breathes.

There will be time for that later.

"Rest." He says, when he opens his eyes and sees how tired Malik is. Altair climbs off him, but Malik catches one of his hands before he could leave. A silent request for him to stay.

Altair stares, but Malik only grunts and pulls on his hand until they were both lying down on the bed, he falls asleep in the warm circle of Altair's arms.

~ + ~

"You really need to put some clothes on." Is what he says once he could stay awake for more than a handful of hours.

Altair snorts, but later on does as told.

~ + ~

It wasn't long before Malik asked about the village.

"It has been burnt the the ground. If there were survivors they've already left."

Malik closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. Altair had been correct when he said Malik did not harbour many attachments to the place, but the people living there hadn't been bad people. They were ignorant and selfish, willing to sacrifice an orphan to a dragon if only to save their own skins, but they had not deserved to be slaughtered like this.

He opens his eyes again when a familiar weight settles on his lap and he looks down at Altair, in his dragon form today, laying his head over Malik's thighs. Malik settles a hand over Altair's head after a short pause and they stay that way until Kadar returns chattering about a book he'd found in the library.

~ + ~

Death sent no more of her servants to claim Malik's soul.

That, in and of itself, does not surprise Altair. What does surprise him is the way she does nothing at all.

On his turf, on this mountain he has grown up he holds the advantage and, were it anyone else, he would have been content to know that fear of him was enough to keep whoever it was at bay.

But the Lady of Death and her sisters were old as time itself. That she would not think herself powerful enough to make an attempt did not make much sense and every one of Altair's instincts screamed that something was wrong.

It is easy enough to ignore in the daytime, but when he holds vigil over Malik in the evenings there is far too much time to think.

It is not her retribution Altair worries about (or fears because he feared _no one_ ), but the knowledge she holds. They say that the three sisters that were born first into this world of which Death was the youngest could see every possibility in the world and Altair wonders at what future she has seen that leads Death, who comes for all even the gods themselves, who does not bargain and does not compromise, who would certainly not allow a dragon to defy her will without saying nary a word, to inaction.

~ + ~

At first, Malik didn't pay much mind to the way Altair seemed to stick close to him all the time. After all, Kadar had done the same for a while.

But long after Kadar had stopped, Altair still continued to shadow his every step. Even more worrying was the obvious signs of exhaustion on Altair's face. When Malik noticed the shadow under his eyes, he wracked his brain for the last time he'd seen Altair sleeping and found he couldn't. They shared a bed, but always it was Malik who fell asleep first.

Nearly two months after his fever broke, he turns to Altair with a frown.

"I had thought you a dragon not a shadow." He pushes himself up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed to sit to properly face where Altair stands at the bedside, the moon casting a cold light on everything, "I will not disappear if you are not there every minute of the day, Altair."

Altair's face is unreadable, but there was the briefest flash of uncertainty and that's another thing to add to Malik's growing list of concerns. He has never known Altair to act uncertain before. It does nothing to alleviate the knot of worry in Malik's gut.

"Tell me what ails you." He says as he reaches for Altair's wrist, feels the way Altair turns his hand to lace their fingers together loosely. His eyes are fixed where their hands are joined, Malik notices, first with a blank look then with one of determination as he squeezes his fingers.

"It is nothing."

Malik sighs.

"It is not nothing if it is driving you to insomnia." And he hadn't known (even if he had been fairly certain he was right), not until Altair's head snaps up, surprise written in every movement, "Tell me what happened, Altair."

And, because Altair did not actually believe he'd done anything that needed to be hidden, answered honestly, "Death had meant to collect your soul when you were down with fever."

Yet Malik is still very much alive. He's starting to have an idea of what is to come next and it makes his grip on Altair's hand clench unconsciously and his tone urgent when he asks, "What did you _do_?" Because he has heard the stories, of those who thought they could cheat Death and the fate that awaits them. Perhaps they are just stories, but all stories contain in them a certain degree of truth and it's that thought that makes something cold like dread settle over him.

Altair's answer, unrepentant and haughty, did nothing to dispel it, "I did what I had to to save you."

"You..." And he trails off for half a second, as the icy feeling melted by a red hot anger, "you fool! Do you realize what you've done?"

Altair's eyes narrowed dangerously, leans in with his entire body because his human shaped does not allow him to onhly bring his face close. Malik does not flinch or lean back to give himself more space.

"I could not just watch you die! Not after--" Altair's mouth snapped shut but he doesn't need to finish for Malik to know what he meant to say afterwards. It does not pacify the anger entirely, but it takes the edge off it.

After all, Altair had out lived one mortal lover already. Is it any surprise that he did not wish to do it a second time?

Altair makes a frustrated sound and would have pulled back if not for the way Malik does not let go of his hand. He is the stronger one by far between the two of them, but he lets Malik hold him there like he's not.

"All things die, Altair." And it is not the comfort Malik wanted to give but it is the truth which is cruel but also, in its own way, kinder than false hope.

But it is not a thing Altair could accept, not when he should be powerful enough now to hold onto the things and people that matter. This was his realm, his fortress. If Death wanted to claim anyone here they would need to go through him to do it.

~ + ~

Altair's first mistake had been allowing the bandits to do as they please in the mountains under his protection.

His second one was to think the matter was closed after that conversation.

~ + ~

"You need rest." Malik says with an insistent tug on Altair's arm.

Altair matches his frown, but allows himself to be dragged onto the bed, settling beside Malik. It has been another month since their last conversation and even Kadar has noticed Altair's exhaustion. Even so he looks ready to argue and Malik snorts at his stubbornness.

"You are going to collapse at this rate." He runs a hand over the back of Altair's neck a gesture he'd realized one sunny afternoon Altair had enjoyed and would sometimes lull him into drowsiness, "sleep. I will wake you if anything happens."

And it's a testament to how tired he is that he obeys with little protest.

Malik waits until his breathing evens out, still caressing the back of Altair's neck. He continues long after he was sure Altair was deeply asleep, but eventually reluctantly stops. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Altair's head. He lingers and wonders if it would be appropriate to apologize before he closes his eyes with a sigh.

"I love you." he murmurs against Altair's hair, feels him shift and, briefly wonders (hopes) he would wake up.

Altair only settles against the pillows again, still asleep.

~ + ~

When Altair wakes up it is noon. The significance of this is lost to him in the moments before he awakens fully, when the warmth of Malik's fingers on his neck clings to him like a dream (or a memory) that invades the waking world. He closes his eyes against the sharp noon sunlight and reaches out for where he expects Malik to be. He's gotten used to watching the sunrise painting Malik's skin in a warm colour, the way when the sun rises to a certain point it took the edge off the world and made everything seem to glow. Malik had become a fixture, something of a constant that Altair was all too glad to welcome into his life.

But his hand finds no one and nothing in the space in front of him and that has his eyes snapping opening. He sits up and finds himself entirely alone. Panic grips him and he throws the covers off and stands.

"Where is he!?"

There is a glimmer of golden light to his side and a wordless murmur that has him growling and running out of the room and into the halls. He nearly bowls over Kadar but it doesn't matter. Nothing does except the desperate beat of his heart as he ran and kept running even as the stone beneath his bare-feet gave way to the cold of dew covered grass. He doesn't stop until he sees Malik sitting slumped against a tree, looking as if he may be peacefully asleep. As if he may wake up if Altair just called his name. Surely he'd complain about the crick in his neck from sleeping like that.

Something in Altair wants to keep running (to or away, he couldn't tell any more), but he takes slow steps instead, one after another until he crouches in front of Malik. He reaches a hand out, brushes Malik's cheek. His skin is cold and Altair's fingers shake as he reaches to search for a pulse he already knows will not be there.

"Malik." He calls as if the man could still hear him and doesn't cry when he does not. Instead, he pulls Malik against him, throws his head back and screams.

~ + ~

Were Altair more prone to listening to sense, he would not have gone to confront Death in her own domain. But he still remembers how cold Malik's body had been, how unnaturally still he'd been in Altair's arm, still remembers the way he would shake his head and call Altair a fool, with a fond half smile and it feeds the anger that blinds him to sense.

He is a dragon again as the doors to Death's domain are thrown open. He growls as he walks through, every step he takes full of enough violence and anger that every being in the room back away from him. All except for the slight figure sitting on her silver throne. Death merely sits there, her elbows resting on the armrests on her throne, fingers laced together in front of her chest looking at Altair with nothing more than apathy.

"Return him to me!" 

She does not bat an eye at his demand, only unlaces her hands to push herself into standing. She is pale, looks paler because her hair is inky black and her dress a dark blue with an elaborately embroidered wide collar. She is small, a whole head shorter than even Malik but when she tilts her head up she gives the impression that she is looking down at Altair not up.

"He is no longer here."

And Altair rails against that piece of information and the implications of it. He growls again and though there is no sky here there is a brief answering crackle of lightning in the air. Death tilts her head slightly, disdainful of his loss of control.

"You _lie_!"

"I do not lie, Son of None." She says, lacing her fingers again in front of her stomach, "his rebirth has already been delayed, why should he have to wait any longer to pass on?"

The dismissive way she speaks only adds fuel to Altair's anger. He snarls, baring his teeth as lighting arched over his claws and into the air, "You dare take what belongs to me?"

Death's eyes (a dark, dark blue that almost seemed black like her hair at times) remain impassive as her hands fall to her side. "This is my realm, Son of None: nothing here belongs to you. And to begin with, he was never yours to keep." She lifts a hand, holding it palm down and sweeps it through the air horizontally and the crackle of lightning stops though it does nothing to dispel Altair's rage. "The mortal is gone. That matter is over and done with. There is now only the matter of your punishment."

He snarls at her, swings his tail, knocking over a couple of black statues at the side, causing many of her shadowed servants to move away murmuring in a panic.

"I will find him again. And this time I will not allow you to take him."

Death only shakes her head, as he leaves before sitting herself on her throne again, hands once again held in front of her chest in the manner some living would have their dead mimic. "You will find him, though you may come to regret doing so." She says before the doors could close behind him, without even the barest hint of pity in her voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than a year later, chapter 2 is finally here! I promise the next chapter won't take so long. Hopefully.

2.

For a creature as long lived as Altair, two decades is hardly any time at all.

He spends those years scouring for Malik's reborn soul. He returns to the fortress for want of any other place to go, though it happens less often as his search takes him futher and further. The other reason he returns is because Kadar is still there. Altair himself did not care for the boy except that he's the last connection to Malik he has left. And because this was the child Malik had been willing to die for (once upon a time) and so Altair made sure Kadar did not want for anything while he lived under Altair's protection.

It no longer mattered, however, when twenty-six years after Malik died a travelling merchant found his way to the fortress carrying a map from a distant land.

It would not have caught Altair's eye at all, if Kadar had not brought it to him, pointing out the name of the map maker, printed in neat handwriting in the corner.

_Malik Al-Sayf_

Kadar, now older than his brother when he'd met Altair only shakes his head.

"What are the chances...I mean. Perhaps it is only coincidence."

But Altair did not believe in such things and, even if he did, surely this was _too much_ of a coincidence.

_"You will find him, though you may come to regret doing so."_

He leaves the very next day.

~ + ~

He finds Malik in a small shop in a city considered by many to be holy because once it had been under the protection of a great god who has since gone ( _"All things die, Altair."_ ).

The ease with which he finds Malik surprises him, but not as much as the ease with which he recognizes him.

It is not only his name that is the same, he looks exactly had before he'd died. Were it not for his manner of dress and the easy and natural way he used the quill in his hand to draw a line on the map, Altair could very well have mistaken him for the same person.

It felt like a trap.

But no amount of ill omens could stop Altair from approaching the shop after days of observation and nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Malik turning to him without even the slightest hint of recognition on his face.

"Can I help you?" His accent is different, but what upsets him is the way he speaks, as if Altair were a perfect stranger, indistinguishable from any other face in the crowd.

And he wasn't wrong, but Altair had thought that maybe...

He stares, watches Malik's expression go from politely disinterested to annoyed-but-worried before he fled from the building.

~ + ~

Altair does not go far, keeping an eye on the shop until he feels uncomfortable and wanders the city aimlessly. This is the first time since he was born he's been away from the mountain that has, over the centuries, become closely tied to his powers. There's an itch, just below his skin from being so far from home from the lands that he calls his, to not feel the answering call of the turf that he has known his entire life. To feel in its place the remenants of the previous god who had been connected to this city. His prescence lingers in the older stones and it is disquieting in its own way, like walking into a mausoleum.

Sometimes, when it gets bad, he will leave the city, transform from man to dragon just to feel the stretch of his wings when he opens them fully and take to the skies.

Other times he will take the the roofs, learning more about this place that is so foreign to him. He finds thieves sometimes, men who are not content only to take riches but will also threaten and kill. Altair deals with them as he has taken to dealing with bandits in his mountains since Malik died (without mercy and with great prejudice).

But in the end he always makes his way back to the small shop where Malik made his living.

For all his curiosity about this place, the one he was here for was Malik. Though he didn't know how to approach him. In this place, he could not command Malik to come to him, there was a whole lifetime of distance between them that Altair was unsure how to bridge and he wonders if this is what Death meant when she said what she did.

He wastes first days, then weeks trying to figure out how to approach Malik without scaring him off until the day Malik turned into an alley while out in the marketplace. Altair followed because for all its trade and prosperity the city was not safe. The ruler was out fighting a war and the man left in charge was a tyrant. The men who work for him would punish citizens over imagined sleights and false accusations and Altair would not allow Malik to become another one of their victims.

Altair stops short when turns into the alley because Malik is standing there with his hands on his hip looking unimpressed (an expression so familiar it made Altair's chest ache.)

"Why have you been following me?"

Altair considers lying because the truth is so farfetched and settles for a half-truth.

"To keep you safe."

And Malik snorts, waving a hand dissmissively, "And I assume you expect me to believe you are doing so out of the goodness of your heart? How noble."

"No." He answers because his reasons are not noble in the slightest. He takes a step forward and watches the way Malik eyes him suspiciously and takes a step back, another reminder that he did not recognize Altair at all (and it hurt more than he'd care to admit).

Malik looks him up and down, and for a split second Altair almost believes (foolishly) that the recognition in his eyes meant something.

But all he says is, "You are the man who came to the shop before."

Altair nods and is torn between advancing and retreating and ends up moving not even another inch as Malik continues talking.

"Do you have some business with me or was that also to, as you put it, keep me safe?"

The mocking edge in his voice made Altair's heckles rise, but his snide remarks are easier to deal with than indifference. One cannot fight against disinterest, after all.

"You mock my words, but surely even you know the city is hardly safe right now."

"I can take care of myself." Was the flat reply, because he did realize but, apparently, didn't care.

It made anger and frustration bubble up from somewhere deep within him. Because Malik (the one he knew) had claimed such a thing before, even if he hadn't been talking about corrupt city guards. (And look how well that had turned out.) He stalks forward with a scowl and Malik cants his head defiantly and refuses to back away this time. Altair hadn't planned to drag Malik in and kiss him. If Altair were honest, he hadn't been thinking of anything at all except about how frustrating this man was, how impossibly stubborn and stupidly fearless he was (and how much he's missed him).

The kiss lasts for a beat, then another before Malik shoves him away and slugs Altair in the jaw as hard as he could.

~ + ~

"What are you doing here again?"

He looks down again after directing a scowl at Altair, before drawing the next line. It is straight, precise and Malike imagines that he draws it through the annoying face staring at him from the door frame.

It had been equal aprts surprise and embarrassment that made Malik punch him. He might have felt guilty about it afterwards if it weren't for the fact that Altair's jaw didn't even bruise, while his own hand had to be bandaged. Hitting the idiot had been like striking a stone wall, and the fact that he'd only hurt himself trying to punch the man who had--

He staunchly refused to think about it.

Malik stabs the quill back into the inkwell with more violence than necessary and crosses his arms.

"Well?"

He tries to stay angry. But it is difficult when the man standing at the door looks at his bandaged hand with so much guilt. It is like kicking a dog that's already down and while that does make Malik angry it makes it harder to direct the anger at him.

Still, he steps the rest of the way into Malik's shop, letting the door swing close behind him.

"I thought you may want some help." He does not gesture at Malik's hand, and his words are measured as if he'd been practising.

"I do not." Which is true because Malik would rather put off the chores that can't be done until he has full use of both hands.

Altair's gaze turns to a stack of boxed supplies in the corner without saying anything and it is infuriating enough that Malik considers throwing him out. He seems to sense this, at least, and does not say what they both know to be true, that whether he wants help or not he clearly needs it.

"Consider it an apology."

"...fine."

~ + ~

Mostly, Altair does the heavy lifting that Malik cannot. They speak somewhat civilly, yet Altair cannot help but notice the distance Malik keeps between them deliberately.

It is clear that he does not want anything to do with Altair and that is a difficult thing to come to terms to.

(Perhaps this is what Death had meant. That he will find Malik but never be able to hold him in his arms again, that even if he is _there_ it won't matter.)

He's far from giving up, but at the same time he doesn't understand how to bridge the gap between them.

Then he returns one day, to find Malik not behind the counter where he usually was, but sitting off to the side, staring out into the adjoining courtyard where the rain fell in through the grated roof. Altair could not see his entire face from where he stood, but there's something in Malik's expression that was oddly open and vulnerable. He freezes where he stands, tries to understand the nuances in that expression and loses the chance when Malik notices his entrance and turns towards him.

His expression is closed off as he stands but it is unimportant to the fact that his hair was still damp and he'd changed since Altair left and returned, even though he should have been indoors this entire time.

"Were you outside in the rain?"

He doesn't miss the way Malik's gaze stray back to the courtyard for the briefest moment.

"No."

~ + ~

It rains again the next day, but it is anything but natural.

Altair observes Malik from the corner of his eyes. Watches the way he turns towards the courtyard attached to the store with its grated roof as the smell of incoming rain creeps into the air in the shop.

He dismisses Altair for the day, tells him to go before it rains on him on his way home.

He complies, but doesn't go far. He takes vigil on a nearby building, sits at an angle where he could look into the courtyard but cannot be seen.

The moment the skies open up and the rain begins to fall heavily, Malik steps out of the shop and into the courtyard. His head tilts up and he lets the rain soak him without a word of protest, only a strange sort of longing on his face.

~ + ~

"Do you like the rain?" Altair asks after it rained again the next day. They are both stuck in the shop, Altair because the rain came suddenly and without warning (at his beck and call), and Malik because Altair was here.

His eyes are turned towards the window though, watching the way the rain hit the ground and bounced briefly before settling into a puddle. Altair's question pulls him back from wherever his mind had wandered and he...doesn't quite frown even if he doesn't smile. The prescence of rain seems to soften the harshness in him and something melancholic and thoughtful replaces them. He shrugs.

"I do not hate it."

Which is not an answer at all, but the way he eventually wanders away from the counter to stick his hand out the window and catch some of the rain in his palm, the expression on his face when he does it, is enough to give him some hope.

~ + ~

"It's odd." Malik says on the fourth day where rain fell again, "It does not usually rain this much this time of year."

Altair pushes the last box up onto some shelves with a grunt.

"Does it bother you?"

"...not at all." Malik's gaze stay focused on open doorway leading out into the courtyard, this time.

For the fourth time in a row, Altair had stayed because Malik would not kick a man out in this weather, but he would also not run out in the rain while in company. The longer this lasts, though, the more restless he feels.

(Oh, but how would he explain why a grown man would desire to run out into the rain? What possible reason could he give that would not make him sound like a lunatic or a child--)

Altair walks up to the counter, and jumps behind it, the motion startling Malik out of his thoughts. Altair does not miss the way the other man tenses even before he reaches out and carefuly extracts the quill from his hand and sets it aside, then pulls him out from behind the counter even as Malik sputters.

"What do you think you're doing!?" He pulls back, but Altair is stronger by far and drags him through the door way and out into the courtyard, before letting go.

Malik takes a step back and away from him, but does not go back into the shop. He eyes Altair suspiciously.

"What is the meaning of this?"

He's no longer yelling. Altair grins. He would take it as a good sign.

"Nothing." He breathes in deeply, enjoys the smell of the storm he had called, the droplets of rain fat and warm as it hits his skin and soaks through his clothes, "I just like the feeling of being in the rain."

Maybe, this counts as playing dirty, but he is pleased to see Malik's shoulders relax even as he shakes his head.

"You are a strange one."

~ + ~

The next time Malik offers to let him stay, it is not because of the rain. (It could not go on raining forever. Some of the spirits living in the area had begun to complain.)

"It is late." He says after a particularly large shipment of supplies required that they work together to reorganize the store room at the back to make room for it. "You can stay the night."

Because despite the calm in the store, it is not safe outside. There is talk that the man in charge of the city may begin to enforce a curfew.

It hardly seemed important here, in this place, with Malik's face lit by the soft, flickering candle light as he pulled a spare blanket and pillows for Altair to use.

"Thank you." When he reaches out to take them, Altair lets his fingers brush over Malik's. Naturally, he pulls away, but he doesn't flinch. "Sleep well, Malik."

Malik nods stiffly, "You as well."

~ + ~

They continue in this way until Malik's hand has healed completely.

Even afterwards, Altair doesn't quite leave and comes into Malik's store every day until the other man snapped at him to 'do something useful instead of sitting around uselessly'.

~ + ~

"Where do you even live?" Malik asks one day over the lunch Altair had brought back for both of them. (Altair had half-expected him to refuse it, but Malik had only cast the offering a brief suspicious look before accepting.)

"I stay in an inn." It is a lie, but better than admiting that he sleeps on the roof of a nearby building.

Malik pops another date into his mouth and chews as he thinks. He spits out the pit and sets it with the others. "What a waste of money."

"It is. But I have no choice as there is no where else." He looks at Malik from the corner of his eyes, "If someone were kind enough to offer me lodgings, I would be grateful."

Malik snorts. "That was not subtle at all."

To which Altair only smirks, completely unapologetic, "It wasn't meant to be."

"Hn." He picks up another date and rolls it between thumb and forefinger, "you can stay." He pops the date into his mouth, kicks at Altair when his smirk widens. He continues when he's finished swallowing, "only until you find better lodgings. This is not permanent." 

"Of course."

~ + ~

Except Altair never really leaves and Malik never asks him to.

He stays long enough to see the season begin to change and it is when summer begins to give way to fall that Altair kisses him again.

Malik is standing out in the attached courtyard, watching the rain fall through the grated ceiling above. Altair watches from the doorway as he tilts his head back with a sigh, eyes sliding shut.

"Why do you enjoy standing out in the rain?"

Malik lets out a quiet hum and if Altair had asked when they'd first met (this time), he most certainly wouldn't have answered.

"I'm not sure 'enjoy' is the right word for it." His eyes slide open half-way, still squinting against the fall of rain against his face. He does not elaborate any more, and Altair is too caught by the faint, rueful smile that takes over his lips to care about asking for more.

He crosses the distance between them, his steps disturbing the light reflected in the puddles on the stone.

And he thinks, _you remember. Maybe not all of it, but some part of you remembers, doesn't it?_

Malik's head turns towards him as he closes the distance between them until he could reach out and draw Malik in by his arm. The fabric under his hand is soaked through and he wonders whether the skin under would be warm or cool to the touch. He expects resistance when he pulls him close, is surpirsed to find none and it leaves him staring, unsure of himself.

_Somewhere inside your soul, you remember._

"Why did you come to this city, Altair?" The question is hushed and if they weren't so close would have been drowned out by the rain. Malik watched him as if trying to understand a puzzle and Altair's grip tightens minutely.

"You." He said as he leaned in, "I came looking for you."

Then he closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth to Malik's. It is slower, less intense than his last attempt (but it was no less desperate despite that).

Malik still pushes him away, but there is no violence or anger in the motion. In its place was something, in his expression, like surprise or longing and his fingers curl over the fabric of Altair's clothes.

It is not enough, but it is a start.

(At the very least, Malik does not try to punch him this time.)

~ + ~

"I have never met you before in my life." Malik says when they are inside where it is dry and warm, away from the curtain of rain that seemed to cast a spell over Malik's mood, making it soft like the light filtered through the rain clouds, "what reason is there for you to come looking for me?"

Altair accepts the linen he's offered to dry off with, pretends not to notice the way Malik's gaze lingered over his body when he stripped.

"Have you ever felt as if something were missing from your life?"

Malik shakes his head with a snort and turns resolutely back towards the hearth (and away from the distracting way the fire light bathed Altair's skin in rich, warm tones), "You expect me to believe you came all the way to another city in the vain hope you will find that missing thing? Or that you believe I am that which you are missing?" His tone is disbelieving, but it does nothing to deter Altair from stepping closer.

"It is no different from the way you run into the rain looking for fill a hole in your life."

"Are you implying what I have been looking for is you?" The fire seems to have caused whatever softness that lingered to evaporate like the rain that had clung to their skin and there is nothing left in his voice but mocking incredulity. But, then again, Malik's always been defensive when he knows he's been cornered.

"Perhaps." They are barely an arm's length apart, but Altair keeps his arms by his side, "tell me you think I am wrong and I will bother you no longer."

It is Malik's hand that twitches up, as if he meant to grab hold of Altair's arm. It hovers for a moment that lasts from one breath to another before he drops it and turns away.

"I think you're mad."

~ + ~

But, try as he might, Malik cannot deny that there was some truth in what Altair said.

There is something achingly familiar about the smell and sound of rain that always draws him out into it. His mother used to tell him how, as an infant, he would not settle when it rained unless she held him close enough to the window so he could hear it.

_"The rain was better than any lullaby I could sing for you."_

It is comforting for him to stand under the spray no matter how hard it rained but it is also disappointing for a reason he could never pinpoint.

Then there's Altair. 

He remembers the day Altair dragged him out into the rain, the way the entire exchange felt right in a way he could neither explain nor understand. And maybe it is the strange feelings the rain always drums up inside him that is to blame, but he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the man despite his best attempts to keep Altair out of his life.

He was not the first person to come seeking him, but usually men came with discernible reasons that _made sense_ like commissioning him for maps. (They did not sweep into his life, looking like a man who had finally found an oasis after wandering lost in the desert for many years.)

"Why did you come looking for me?" Malik asks when he's accepted that he will not be falling asleep this night and goes out to the main area of his humble shop where Altair sleeps.

There is no immediate reply and Malik takes the time to just watch him.

Maybe, Malik has thought once or twice, Altair really _is_ mad, but the way he looks at him did not seem mad. 

There is hope there. 

There is saddness and loss.

And there is love.

(But, perhaps, love itself is a kind of madness.)

"Because it is you." He says, breaking Malik out from his thoughts, as he sits up, "I would always come find you."

Malik frowns, crossing his arms, "cease speaking in riddles."

His frown only deepens when Altair sighs.

"Do you believe in reincarnation, Malik?"

"Are you implying we knew each other in a previous life?"

"No." The answer interrupts whatever retort burned on the tip of Malik's tongue, but it is the look in Altair's eyes that stops him from voicing them, "I imply nothing. It is the truth."

Malik did not believe in past lives (their god and their prophets preach that such things do not exist), but at the same time he did not doubt Altair and maybe that means they're _both_ mad. He runs a hand over his face and it is his turn to sigh.

"And we were. What? Lovers?" The idea is prepostrous and he does not even know where to begin addressing the impossibility of it. (That Altair looks too young to have known Malik in a previous life, that he should not remember if they had both died.)

He begins with the one that is actually important.

"Even if what you say is true, I am not the same man you knew before." He turns around, "I won't act as someone's replacement."

It really should have been as simple as that, because Malik would not accept the feelings meant for someone else. How he did or did not feel about Altair could not change his resolution.

But then Altair calls his name, sounding somehow lost and sure all at once (though Malik could not know what causes which). He should not stop, but Malik finds himself rooted with his hand resting on the door leading to his own rooms. He remains there even when he hears the rustle of fabric when Altair stands, stays still even when there are footsteps coming closer. He half-expects to feel Altair's warm body pressed along his back, but he stops short of that.

Instead, he covers Malik's hand, the one gripping the handle to the door so hard he's sure it must be leaving its impression on his palm.

"I do not think of you as a replacement."

Malik lets go of the door, turns around with every intent to push Altair away, to yell at him (because he has spent _years_ growing, if not comfortable, then resigned with the idea that he will always feel like he is missing something in his life) but when his hands fall on Altair, he finds himself dragging him in and crushing their mouths together instead.

There is nothing gentle about the kiss, except, perhaps, for the way Altair presses Malik back against the door, the motion slow and deliberate. In contrast, everything else, from the way their hands grab at each other to the way Malik's tongue invades Altair's mouth is full of a desperate sort of greed.

They are both short of breath when they pull back and Altair's hands slide up, cups his face and brushes over Malik's cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Malik--"

"Shut up. Just..." His own hands snake up to tangle in Altair's short hair, "don't talk." Then he pulls Altair back down.

Malik kisses him like he is determined to prove something. (Though what it is neither of them really knew). The intensity of it catches Altair off-guard, but then he's kissing back just as desperately, because words have always failed him where action did not, and he has decided to accept all that Malik is and all that he is willing to give, either in the past or in the present.

He hears rather than sees Malik blindly groping for the door. Right before the door is pushed open, Altair's arm snakes around the dip of Malik's lower back and pulls him close before they're both stumbling back into the room beyond the doorway. Their hands are still all over each other, their kiss never breaking until the back of Malik's knees finds the edge of his cot and falls back onto it. His feet still firmly planted on the ground as Altair leans over him.

The distance brings with it a trepidation that Malik isn't sure is caused by clarity or confusion, but it makes him reach up to push against Altair's shoulder.

"I cannot become the person you have been searching for."

Slowly, Altair reaches up and takes Malik's hand. He brings it up to his face and brushes a his lips against Malik's knuckles.

"Then don't."

~ + ~

The first time they'd fallen in love it had been a slow but natural progression from strangers to friends to lovers. They had fallen for each other admidst lazy summer days, surrounded by warm sunshine.

There is nothing slow or easy about how they fall together now, surrounded by the smell of paper and ink and rain. Malik will inevitably seek him out whenever the rain comes to the city as if drawn to him and, just as inevitably, they will end up sleeping together. (People in the market complained about the frequency of the rain this year and the old complained about the young and how in _their_ day the storms had been worse.)

Malik doesn't linger in the beginning, always dressing the moment they are finished and leaving to do work.

It might have not have moved beyond something physical, not with the wall Malik seems determined to build around himself, if not for the way Altair persisted in carving out a space for himself in Malik's life. If not for the fact that even though Malik was stubborn, it was not difficult to wear away at his resolve, to soften the guard he had raised to protect himself with small gestures of affection.

Eventually, even with the noon sunlight casting sharp shadows unfiltered by rain clouds, Malik begins to lean into Altair's touches. He always catches himself after a breath, pulls away with an embarrassed frown and Altair learns that if he lets him go instead of pulling him back in, Malik will keep sneaking glances at him for the rest of the day.

Altair feigns ignorance the same way Malik pretends not to notice Altair smirking at him when their eyes meet.

Malik keeps up these pretenses until one day his hand hovers just millimeters away from dipping his quill into the ink, a faint blush still painted across his face. Then he just slams it onto the counter with unecessary violence and stalks around the counter to where Altair was lounging on some pillows in the corner.

He kneels and Altair's thighs part, a wordless invitation for him to move _closer_. There is nothing physical pulling him in, but Malik finds it hard to resist the lazy sprawl of his body or the way Altair looks at him like there is no one at all in the world he would rather spend his time on. It draws him in until he can catch the scent on Altair's skin, a clean smell like the air closer to the sky, far from the dust of the earth.

Altair had said that he came from the mountains. Malik wondered if this was the smell of his home clinging to him even after all this time.

"I had been content before you. I could have lived my entire life without wanting for anything." He leans in and whispers against Altair's ear.

Altair's hand comes up to rest on Malik's nape, thumb idly brushing against the skin there. Malik sighs and pulls back but does not push Altair's hand away.

"Then you came, spouting all this _nonsense_ about past lives." It is an accusation...and a capitulation. The he slumps so their foreheads were touching, shutting his eyes, "What have you done to me?"

And because it is not actually a question Malik wanted an answer to (and he wouldn't have one to give anyway), Altair only tilted his head so their lips met in a kiss. Malik lets out a breath, amused and irritated, then kisses Altair back, unhurried and thorough where everything in their relationship (in this life) had been anything but.

That has not been the only difference. There were others, but instead of being disappointed by the discrepancies, more and more Altair found himself fascinated by them.

Despite what he had initially expected, Malik wasn't the only one who had fallen in love here.

~ + ~

The problem with a godless land like this place was that they are rare.

There is plenty of unclaimed land, but many are not fit for them in the first place. The relationship between a being like Altair and its land is really simple in theory. They draw powers from their territory and, in turn, the land draws something out of them. Most mortals cannot sense it, but they can recognize the signs though they do not know the cause. The prescence of a being of power eases the harsher elements of a territory, makes natural disasters less likely to occur in particularly devastating way or lessens the chances of parasites or outbreaks of diseases. It does not make it perfect, but makes it easier for people to live.

Mortals can, of course, build their homes in lands outside of these places, they can even build homes where even the immortals with all their powers cannot put down roots.

Because such places did exist, and they took up far more space than the places that an immortal can call their own.

Wars have been fought over teritories like those, the ones that are blessed. Men and gods and all manners of beings have killed each other for the chance to claim these lands.

No one has dared with this city because the god here had been a powerful one. But he is dead now and, as the remenants of his powers continues to fade, the ones who have watched this place like vultures begin to encroach.

It is far more difficult to take a piece of territory once it is owned. The first to claim this place will have every advantage.

Altair has no interest in these lands. If he could have convinced Malik, they would have left this place already.

But Altair's very presence here, the fact that he's been bending the weather to his will (making the mortals chatter about it and what it may mean), appear to others as a threat.

"What is it?" Malik places the spoon back down on the dish when Altair suddenly looked up.

The air itself is filled with something like a song, one that did not find its way to Malik's ears.

There is a beat where Altair says nothing, then, "It is nothing." He stands from the table where they had been sharing a meal, "I will return shortly."

~ + ~

He does not fly to the edge of the city. But his legs take him there faster than any mortal could have made it.

The sand swirl as he stops, miles and miles away from the city walls, forming a body from it.

"Leave these lands." It says when it has formed enough of a shape to speak.

Altair's expression is haughty, "I have no interest in this place. But you will leave me alone if you know what is good for you."

The thing hissed as he took on a more solid shape (but he looked shifty, like he'd slip through fingers like sand if someone tried to grab him), "You are far from home. You have no power, no authority here! You and that human you associate with are _nothing_ to us."

But the air crackled with electricity as Altair's eyes glowed gold, "No authority, but you are a fool if you think I have no power. I do not want these lands. Keep them for yourselves, but touch what is mine and I will take your life."

The thing laughed, "I would like to see you _try_." Then he returned to being a pile of sand, crashing against the ground as gravity took hold. That was not his real body, merely a projection of his will. Altair could not track him, not here, so far from his own lands. He thought, he'd best ask Malik again if he'd leave this place. It would be safer, but Altair didn't doubt that he could protect him if necessary.

He would not allow Malik to be taken from him again.

Yet, when he turned around, there was a pillar of smoke rising from the city and something cold settled in the pit of his stomach.

~ + ~

The people of this city have never seen a dragon before. They did not often come so low, preferring the mountains and their colder temperatures even when their numbers were more plentiful.

When Altair soars through the air, it will be the first time many of them see a dragon. The people will whisper about it for years to come, most of them forgetting that on the exact same day a mapmaker's shop had gone up in flames.

~ + ~

He is covered in blood by the time he steps into Death's halls.

"I saved you the trouble of coming for him." He sneers and throws the god who had ordered the murder of Malik to the ground. He does not make a sound as he fell, only kept (barely) breathing.

Death does not seem surprised to see him. She does not show any expression, nor does she make any move to end the suffering of the god laying at Altair's feet. "I do not need your help, Son of None. You shouldn't take the matters of Death into your own hands."

In his head, the sounds and noises of the fire, Malik's body, burnt not beyond recognition but still without movement or breathing or life, the voices of this whimpering fool of a god's messengers saying _the human is dead, dead, dead_ , fed the fury that made his body tremble.

"I could smell your mark on him." But he hadn't sensed it on Malik, "this is no coincidence. You set Malik up to die."

"You do not understand that which you meddle in, Son of None. But you are correct," She says, "the death of the mortal you call Malik is no coincidence." She stands from her throne, the dark train of her dress trailing behind her, "this is your punishment, for breaking a sacred law by keeping a life beyond its time. You will find him, your precious lover, but you will never be able to keep him." She stops, a few metres away. Her voice iss neutral, devoid of anger or passion when she says, "he will die, Son of None, over and over again and you will be unable to stop it."

Altair's lips pull back in a snarl, all sharp edges and defiant threats of violence, "We will see."


End file.
